When Gods Quarrel

"Gather what champions you wish, I suppose. It will make no matter. You will flee or die, and we will triumph in Erchasos' name."

He turned to go, Zora hanging limply over his shoulder. He stopped before the naked statue, and Tsepan heard him snort in amusement. Myrias turned to look back over his shoulder.

"A pretty little statue," he laughed, shifting Zora on his shoulder. His other arm raised his axe and swung it into the marble statue's waist. Tsepan heard all the acolytes cry out at once as the sacred image of their Lady cracked and tumbled to the grassy ground. Myrias kicked the fallen statue torso and sneered. "Nothing more than a chunk of rock," he growled. "See what your goddess offers for protection? But no matter, some of you are too foolish to run, and I look forward to devouring you on the morrow."

He turned and ambled off into the garden with his fellow brutes in tow. Tsepan stood still, not daring to move, for a long time. Slowly, the birds resumed their chirping, the wind blew through the trees, and Tsepan roused himself from his stupor to turn with the others and face Nia, stood rigidly upright in the center of the room, her face white.

"What are we going to do?" asked Ambra, her voice thin and shaking. Nia said nothing for a long time, then she turned toward the temple's inner sanctum.

"We must pray. The Goddess will send help."

There was no other response. Tsepan fell in behind her as they walked to the sanctum and began to fervently pray to Nystra for deliverance.

Not far from the temple lay a shaded road through the woods. Dappled in late afternoon sunlight, the road was traveled by a solitary rider. His ears were pointed, and his short, dark hair hidden by a sallet helm. He wore a jack coat and armored gauntlets, with a longsword hanging from his baldric. His piercing green eyes scanned the road ahead of him, occasionally flicking up to watch songbirds as they darted through the trees. While he held the reins, his hands were never far from the two wheellock pistols hanging from his saddle horns.

The road was well-trodden but lay empty, at least until he rounded a bend and found a woman standing in the road with a lame horse. She was fair-skinned and golden haired, dressed in a red silken blouse and deep green trousers. She wore a satchel over one shoulder, and a flower in her hair.

"Greetings, madame," the rider called. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"I am, sirrah. My horse has been riding long and I am afraid he has hurt himself."

"Might I have a look at him?" he asked, swinging from the saddle.

"Help yourself," she replied. "I am afraid that the beasts do not like me."

He led his horse over and looked at the lame steed. It was a fine, white-haired palfrey, but its leg was quite clearly broken.

"I am sorry, my lady, this horse will never walk again."

She sighed, then blew a wandering lock of hair out of her eyes.

"How unfortunate. I was riding along when something bolted from the brush and spooked my horse. It ran off the road and must have hurt itself in the brush. Is there truly nothing that can be done?"

"I am afraid not," he replied. "I could put it down for you, then take you to the nearest town. It's not far."

"It's a sad thing that must be done, but you've the look of a man who knows how best to do it. This beast has served me well, so do what you must and make it painless."

He gently led his own horse away, then returned to the lame palfrey. He soothed it with soft words, all while stealthily drawing his pistol. The horse whined as it put weight on its injured leg, and the elf-eared man lifted the injured limb up again.

"Don't," he commanded softly. "Your pain is soon to be ended."

He placed the muzzle of the pistol against the horse's ear.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

There was a sharp crack of thunder and a roar of smoke and flame. The palfrey fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut. It lay still in the dirt and wafting gunsmoke.

"A fine animal and a damned shame," the elf-eared man muttered.

"Indeed, yet it is a magnificent day," added the horseless lady. "There is worse weather in which to be stuck walking."

"You need not walk if you desire, my horse is strong enough for the two of us. Empty your saddlebags and we will make for town on my steed."

"You are too kind. What name do you go by, kind stranger?" asked the lady.

"I am Aranthir of Ildranon, my lady. I confess I am not familiar with you either."

"I am called Serai," she replied. "These are not my native lands, but I am not from as far away as Ildranon."

"And from where do you hail, Serai?" asked Aranthir.

"Where don't I hail from?" she asked breezily. The sunlight danced in her sparkling blue eyes, a beautiful sight that Aranthir could not ignore as she continued. "I am known all over the world, and sing my songs wherever I feel inspired."

"You are a bard, then?" Aranthir inquired. "Or a minstrel?"

"I am a wanderer at heart," she replied. "I keep on the road that I might appreciate the beauty of the world."

"You do not have a home?" asked Aranthir. She laughed, spreading her arms out wide.

"The world is my home. Every rock is a seat, every tree is a roof. I rest where I am tired and roam where I wish."

"The roads can be dangerous, especially for a rich, beautiful woman," said Aranthir with suspicion. This woman was confident despite carrying no weapon and employing no guards. Aranthir thought her to be either mad or a powerful sorceress. Or perhaps both.

"I fear no bandit," Serai scoffed. "They would not harm me."

Aranthir shrugged and swung into his saddle again. He extended a hand to Serai, who took it and easily climbed into the saddle behind him. She put her arms around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"Your generosity is appreciated, Aranthir of Ildranon. I will be sure to sing of it when next I am in a singing mood."

"And when will that be? I was hoping that I might have some accompaniment on this ride. It's so lonely otherwise."

"Very well," she said with good cheer. "I'll sing a little something for you."

She began to sing a delightful traveling song as they rode through the woods. She had a beautiful singing voice, high and clear with power when she wanted it, but control enough to sing softly and tenderly as well. Aranthir smiled to himself. The sun was streaming through the trees and a light breeze occasionally rustled the leaves in the way that he loved. With a beautiful woman pressed against him and a lovely song in his ears, he found life on the road to be most pleasurable for a change.

They came to a place where the road crossed a deep riverbed. Once, the river had run deep here, its bed lying perhaps twenty feet below the fast-flowing surface of the water. Yet for centuries now, it had been only five feet in depth, yet the steep walls of the river still soared above its waters. The locals had built a wooden bridge over the river, cutting a path from the ground above down to where it crossed just above the water.

As Aranthir and Serai arrived at the edge of the river, they found a small crowd of travelers waited where the road cut down into the riverbed. Carts and mules had stopped, and the people were gathered together with concern, their eyes fixed on a point downriver. Aranthir rode his horse up to the edge of the crowd and stopped.

"What has happened here?" he demanded. A few faces turned to meet him, and one old merchant spoke.

"There was a sudden flood," he said, his voice shaky. "A great wall of water came rushing down the riverbed and swept away the bridge and all those upon it. If I were just a few moments faster this morning, I'd be down there..." he trailed off and pointed a crooked finger downstream. Following his finger, Aranthir could make out the corpse of a mule laying in the mud where the river turned.

"How many were killed?" asked Serai. Aranthir detected a darkness in her voice and turned to look upon her face. Her good cheer had dimmed, and now she sat in the saddle and glared hard at the river.

"A half dozen," answer a young peasant man holding his wife around her shoulder. "My cousin the miller, his son, a peddler, and three priests of Nystra. I tried to warn them, but the water just came on too fast."

"It were the will of the gods!" cried one old coot with his hands raised up high. "The peddler brought divine vengeance down on them all! He ate with me at midday, and was saying all sorts of blasphemies!"

"Shut it, old man!" cried another man. The crowd broke into arguing and Aranthir sighed. He spoke over his shoulder to Serai.

"The bridge is in ruins, we cannot cross here. We must find another way to town."

"It will be dark soon," she said quietly, her anger fading from her face. "We must find a place to spend the night. Head south a few miles, I know a place."

The place she had in mind turned out to be a temple to Nystra, Aranthir found out as they rode up the hill toward its walled grounds. They were strangely quiet, and a faint scent of blood hung ominously in the air. Aranthir turned a suspicious eye toward Serai.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"I am. The priests here will give us hospitality through the night."

"Something is wrong here, Serai," he said, one hand on his pistol. "I smell blood in the air."

"Nothing is wrong enough that they will not give us sanctuary. Ride on."

Aranthir's doubts were not dispelled, but he found her convincing enough to continue. He rode the horse up to the bronze gate of the temple garden and dismounted. It was dusk, and the fading rays of the sun glinted off the gilded facing of the gate. Scenes of revelry, feasting, and bathing covered the intricately sculpted gate. No sentrypost overlooked the walls, so Aranthir looked for a viewing slit in the gate. He found it closed, and wrapped on the gate with a gauntleted hand. They waited, but no answer was heard.

"I told you something was wrong," Aranthir said quietly. He drew his sword and looked around. The vineyards to either side were still and silent. "We should go."

"Indeed," Serai said. "There is no sense waiting here any longer." Aranthir put one foot in his stirrup, but Serai thought differently. She strode confidently up to the gate and pushed it open. The gilded bronze portal swung wide, and Aranthir looked at her with intrigued surprise. She returned his look with a casual shrug.

"It was unlocked," she said before turning to make her way down the paths.

The temple's roof was visible over the treetops, and Aranthir led his horse into the garden behind Serai. The gardens were still except for the soft twilight breeze blowing through the flowers and trees. Despite Serai forging boldly forward, Aranthir looked around with caution. The meandering paths did not lead directly to the temple, and instead went through gardens that Aranthir feared might hide an ambush. As he walked down the brick, he smelled the familiar scent of drying blood.

"Serai," he hissed, but she did not break her stride. "Serai, there is blood on the ground here. Be careful."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and gave him a look of disinterest disdain. Without a word, she continued on. Cursing under his breath, Aranthir hurried to catch up with her. The air grew fouler as they neared the temple, and Aranthir stopped behind Serai in a small garden square before the doors of the temple.

A broken statue lay beside a plinth topped only by a pair of shattered legs. The remnants of the statue lay in pieces on the ground, and Aranthir smelled the stink of beasts in the air. Looking past the ruin, he laid eyes on the temple's core structure.

Two heavy doors of bronze-banded oak marked the main portal to a wide, round building of marble. It rose three stories above the ground, topped by a domed cupola that provided views of the surrounding countryside. He could think of few finer places for Nystra's clergy to take in the magnificent sunset, yet the cupola was empty. Looking closer, he saw lights flickering in the windows of the temple.

"Lights are lit," he said quietly to Serai. "Someone is here, or at least was quite recently. Hold still while I take a closer look."

He handed her the reins of his horse and moved quietly toward the temple, his sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. There was no motion in the windows of the temple save for the flickering of the fires, but his elven ears detected whispering and, more distantly, rhythmic chanting. Aranthir paused.

This was usually the point at which he would feel a deep sense of unease at walking into an ambush. But instead, he felt calm. The night breeze was soothing, and the scent of blood and animal odor was fast fading, replaced instead by the pleasant scent of flowers. He even let his swordpoint drop toward the bricks.

He cast a look back at Serai, who was standing calmly beside his horse with her harp in hand. A light breeze rustled the gardens, but Aranthir was not set on edge. Lowering his sword and holstering his pistol, he strode up the marble steps and knocked boldly on the door. The whispering inside stopped, though the chanting continued. Aranthir waited, but there was no response. He banged on the door again, louder this time, with a gauntleted fist.

The whispering started again and increased its harshness. His elven ears made out the soft sound of footsteps on the other side of the door and a small viewslit opened just a crack.

"Who goes there?" asked a meek voice.

"I am Aranthir of Ildranon," Aranthir answered. "A wandering mercenary. I request your hospitality for the night. I am bound for Fellhaven and will be gone in the morning."

The viewslit clacked shut and there was more whispering behind the door. As the breeze subsided, Aranthir's ears could make out their conversation.

"A mercenary! Our prayers were answered!"

"A single mercenary? He will be killed."

"His name sounds elvish. Perhaps he is an elf?"

"Did he look elvish?"

"I... couldn't make out much. I didn't dare open the viewslit very far."

"What's it matter? One mercenary is better than none."

"One mercenary won't stop those monsters. We must flee the temple."

"You would abandon the goddess?! Blasphemy!"

"This mercenary is sent by the goddess to protect us! Let him in!"

Aranthir was unsure what to make of it. He was not on a divine mission, just heading to Fellhaven in search of work. Yet the temple was rich, its walls marble and the decoration over the door gilded and jeweled. The life of a sellsword was always spent in search of pay, and here was someone both wealthy and desperate.

"Open the door," he called, "And we will discuss your problem. I might be able to help."

The whispering stopped, and in the distance the chanting abruptly halted as well. There was a long silence and then at last he heard the sound of a locking bar being lifted out of its moorings. There was another pause, and then the door swung slowly open.

Behind it, Aranthir beheld a score of frightened faces, all comely and well-kept. The priesthood of Nystra kept to their daily rituals even in times of hardship, it seemed. A woman stepped forward from the crowd of acolytes, wearing the blue and white robes of a Nystran prioress.

"We have been praying," she said in a hoarse voice. "And the goddess has answered our prayers."

"I am no deliverance," Aranthir protested, but the prioress held up a hand.

"The gods' instruments do not know what work they do, but they do it nonetheless."

Aranthir sighed. "Very well. Tell me your problem and I will see what I can do."

A great relief washed over the acolytes. The prioress sighed and beckoned for him to enter.

"Come in, Aranthir of Ildranon. I am Nia, prioress of this temple, and I welcome you in our hour of need. Ambra, take our savior's horse and see that it is stabled and fed. Who is your companion?"

"My name is Serai," said Serai, striding boldly up the temple steps as a pretty redhaired acolyte went the other way to take Aranthir's horse. "I encountered Aranthir on the road, after my horse spooked and lamed itself."

"My lady," the prioress said with a bow. "From where do you hail?"

"From a distant land," Serai said with a wave of her delicate, white hand. "Trouble yourself not with the name, for you are not like to hear it again."

"Of course, my lady. Please, be seated." Nia pointed to a cushioned couch and Aranthir sat down, setting his traveler's pack before him. Serai flopped onto the couch beside him, her own pack bouncing on the couch as she did. Nia and two other acolytes sat before them on the floor.

"Trouble began three days ago," she began. "We felt it in the air, on the wind. We could not tell what it was, but we all knew something was off. Divinations in the sacred pool were of a similar nature; ominous, but vague."

"Such is the cryptic way of the gods," Serai mused, resting her chin on one hand.

"Indeed," Nia agreed. "But then this morning, wild beasts came. They climbed the wall and invaded our garden, horrible monstrosities in the shape of a man, but horned and hooved like cattle."

"Minotaurs," Aranthir declared. He resisted the urge to spit on the marble floor and his hand tightened about the pommel of his sword. Nia nodded.

"Bastard spawn of Erchasos. They slew one of my clergy, threw his head at the door of the temple. Then they captured another, a young woman, and... defiled her before our very eyes." She shuddered, and the other acolytes looked on the verge of tears. "They said that the goddess has insulted their divine father, and that he will repay the insult in blood. They promised to return in the morning and kill those of us who remain, then desecrate the temple and return it to the wild."

"Hmm," Aranthir mused, half lost in thought already. His mind ran back to the temple garden, its layout, its wall, its gate. He had an ambush spot in mind for when the monsters came back, but he wanted to look around some more first.

"Three of my servants have already run off," Nia continued sadly. "I fear there will be more in the night. But I dare not leave, for I swore a holy oath to tend the sacred grounds of Her temple."

"I understand," Aranthir said. Oaths to the gods were a high calling and a worthy servant would endure much torment on behalf of their god and still come out ahead in the bargain. But he was bound by no oath to a god, and would require a different reward. "But I am a mercenary, so I will require compensation."

"Indeed," said Nia. She turned to one of her subordinates. "Tsepan, open the vault and bring him two pounds of silver."

"Before we discuss compensation," Aranthir said as the man stood up to leave, "I need to know what I am dealing with. Minotaurs, you say, but how many? Are they armed? Do they have allies?"

"There are six of them," Nia replied, and her subordinate hastily added "that we saw," though she did not seem to appreciate his contribution. "They did not mention allies, but the Wild God has many other minions he might call upon."

"Indeed," Serai added with a cruel edge in her voice, "He could visit all manner of grisly death upon you, Aranthir."

Aranthir gave her an annoyed side-eye but kept his focus on the prioress. "They came over the wall? Did they try the gate first?"

"I did not hear them. We usually have the gate open, but today was a cloistered day of gardening and reflection."

"So six minotaurs, who might attack from any direction at any time. Is there a central place I might wait and watch from?"

"There is a cupola in the dome that provides clear views of the surrounding countryside."

"Minotaurs know how to use the terrain to approach unseen," Aranthir said, "But it's a good start. If I can set some snares to keep them off guard, ambush them from the undergrowth, and get two clean shots with my pistols, I can win the fight." The beginnings of a plan were forming in his mind, and he could see the hope filling the faces of Nia and her companions. "What about allies?"